Date: November 5th, 2012.
Location: Deva Farmhouse, Shamshabad.
Time: 2:00 PM.
Siddanth Deva sat in his ground-floor study, nursing a massive cup of black coffee. The last seventy-two hours had been a blur of blinding camera flashes, stunt rigging, and corporate adrenaline. He had just returned from Mumbai after shooting the high-octane "Speed Unleashed" commercial for the upcoming Bolt 1 smartphone, scheduled for a January launch. But right now, none of those titles helped him solve his current problem: Logistics.
He picked up his personal phone and opened Flash Messenger.
Me:I owe you a date. You said dinner and a movie. But I have a better idea.
The reply came within thirty seconds.
Headache:Does this 'better idea' involve you wearing a surgical mask and hiding in a dark corner of a theatre? Because if so, I pass. I want to be seen in public with my trophy.
Deva chuckled, spinning his chair around to face the window. The level of fame he had reached post-World T20 made normal public appearances impossible. If he walked into a mall in Banjara Hills with Krithika, it wouldn't just be a date; it would be a stampede. The paparazzi would have photos on the front page of the Deccan Chronicle by morning with the headline: THE DEVIL'S SECRET ANGEL. His parents would freak out, the BCCI would ask questions, and Krithika's strict father would probably lock her in her room until she was thirty.
Me:No masks. But we need a cover story. A diversionary tactic.
Headache:A diversionary tactic? Siddarth, we are going on a date, not robbing the Reserve Bank. What are you planning?
Me:Go-Karting. At Kartainment. Near the airport.
Headache:Go-karts? Like... the tiny cars? I don't know how to drive a car, let alone a race car! I drive a Scooty!
Me:It's easy. You press the right pedal to go, left to stop. It's fast, it's competitive, and most importantly... you wear a full-face helmet with a tinted visor. It's the ultimate disguise.
Headache:Okay, fine. I like beating you at things. What time?
Me:5:00 PM. But here is the catch. You can't come alone.
Headache:Excuse me? Are we bringing chaperones now? Are we in the 1800s?
Me:If two of us go, it looks like a date to anyone who manages to recognize me. If eight of us go, it looks like the Deccan Chargers Vice-Captain rented out the track for a boys' day out, and some fans happened to be there. I am bringing Arjun, Sameer, and Feroz. You bring your sister and the twins.
There was a long pause on the messenger. Deva could practically hear her gears turning, processing the logic.
Headache:A group date. To hide the actual date. You really are a tactical genius, aren't you? Fine. I will rally the troops. But be warned, Riya and Kavya will probably scream when they see you again.
Me:Tell them to pretend I'm just 'Siddarth Reddy'. See you at 5.
Deva locked his phone and stood up. He walked out to the living room where his mother was watching a Telugu serial.
"Amma, I'm taking the Swift Dzire," Deva called out, grabbing the keys from the bowl. "Going out with Arjun and the boys. Karting."
"Karting?" Sesikala frowned, looking away from the TV. "Those little cars? Drive carefully, Siddanth! Don't go crashing into walls!"
"It's perfectly safe, Amma. Bumper cars, basically," Deva lied smoothly. He kissed her cheek and headed out to the driveway.
---
Location: Kartainment Track, Rajiv Gandhi International Airport.
Time: 4:45 PM.
The Kartainment facility at the Shamshabad airport was a sprawling, professional-grade asphalt track featuring hairpin bends, long straights, and the permanent smell of burnt rubber and high-octane fuel. Deva had booked out the entire track for two hours under the name of 'NEXUS Corporate Event', ensuring privacy from the general public.
Deva arrived with his entourage. Arjun stepped out of the car, adjusting his designer sunglasses and looking at the track analytically. He looked exhausted from the ongoing phone development but was running on caffeine. Sameer bounded out, already hyped on energy drinks, shadow-boxing the air. Feroz walked out calmly, carrying a high-end DSLR camera.
"I don't understand," Sameer complained, stretching his arms. "We have the whole track to ourselves. Why did we have to come so early?"
"Because we are waiting for guests, Sam," Deva said, leaning against the hood of the Dzire.
"Guests?" Arjun raised an eyebrow, looking at Deva. "Sid, what aren't you telling us? You don't invite 'guests' to our sacred racing days. You hate losing to anyone but me."
Before Deva could explain, a car pulled up to the entrance gates.
Four girls stepped out, arguing loudly over the fare.
Deva smiled. "There they are."
Sameer squinted at the group. His jaw slowly dropped. "Wait. Hold on. Is that... is that the content writer? The one who nearly gave you a heart attack during Dussehra?"
"That's Krithika," Deva confirmed. "And her sister Anjali. And her friends Riya and Kavya."
"You invited girls?" Sameer's eyes went wide as saucers. He immediately ran a hand through his hair, trying to fix the windblown mess, and puffed out his chest. "Sid, you are the greatest friend in the history of friends. I forgive you for all your sins."
Feroz laughed, "Down, boy. Look at them. They look terrified of the track."
Krithika led her group toward the boys. She was wearing jeans, a white t shirt, and a plaid shirt tied around her waist. She looked effortlessly cool, though the slight widening of her eyes as she took in the roaring engines of the karts on the practice track betrayed her nervousness.
Behind her, Riya and Kavya were hyperventilating.
"Oh my god, he's wearing normal clothes," Kavya whispered loudly to Riya. "He looks even better without the blue jersey. I'm going to pass out."
"Breathe, Kavya, breathe," Anjali hissed, though she too looked starstruck standing ten feet away from the World Cup hero.
Krithika stopped in front of Deva, planting her hands on her hips. "We are here. My ears are ringing from the ride, and my friends are currently malfunctioning. Please fix them."
Deva grinned, stepping forward. He didn't offer his hand to Krithika; instead, he turned to the terrified trio behind her.
"Hi guys," Deva said, offering a warm, dazzling smile. "Welcome to the track. Riya, Kavya, Anjali, right?"
"He remembers our names," Riya squeaked, clutching her chest. "He actually remembers."
"Of course," Deva laughed. He turned to his own group. "Girls, meet the idiots. This is Arjun, the CEO of NEXUS and the guy who thinks he knows everything about cars."
Arjun offered a polite, suave nod. "Pleasure."
"This is Feroz," Deva pointed. "He's the team historian. Ignore the camera, he just likes taking embarrassing photos of us."
Feroz waved, snapping a quick candid of the group.
"And this," Deva sighed, pointing to Sameer who was currently trying to lean casually against a pillar and failing miserably. "Is Sameer. He is loud, he is obnoxious, and he thinks he is a ladies' man. Please feel free to insult him."
"Hello, ladies," Sameer said, flashing a million-watt smile directly at Riya and Kavya. "Don't listen to him. I am the actual talent in this group. Let me know if you need a professional driving instructor today."
Krithika scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Professional? You look like you were going to throw up from motion sickness in the backseat."
Sameer's smile faltered. Arjun burst out laughing, clapping Deva on the shoulder.
"I like her, Sid," Arjun declared. "She sees right through him."
"Alright, enough talking," Deva clapped his hands together. "We have the track for two hours. Let's get suited up."
---
The group moved into the pit building. The smell of petrol and stale sweat was overpowering. The track marshals, clearly starstruck by Deva's presence, rushed to provide them with the best gear available.
They were given full racing suits and heavy fiberglass helmets.
"Do I have to wear this?" Krithika held up the heavy black helmet. "It smells like an old shoe, Siddarth. And it's going to completely ruin my hair."
"Safety first, Shorty," Deva said, tossing her a pair of racing gloves. "Asphalt is unforgiving. Put it on."
---
Krithika who was now near the kart cleared her throat, stepping back slightly to break the spell. "So. How does this work? I am not joking, I have never driven anything with four wheels. My Scooty only has hand brakes!"
"It's simple," Deva picked up her sleek black helmet. He placed it over her head. The world instantly became muffled for her. She felt his hands under her chin, deftly buckling the safety strap. It was an incredibly intimate gesture masquerading as a safety check.
"Can you hear me?" Deva asked, tapping the top of her helmet.
"Loud and clear," her voice echoed inside the fiberglass shell.
"Good. Here is the secret to go-karting," Deva leaned in, whispering through the gap in her visor. "The steering wheel is heavy. You actually have to put your shoulders into the turns. And whatever you do... don't hit the brakes on a straightaway."
She looked down at the tiny vehicle, her panic rising.
"What about the indicators?" she asked nervously. "How do I signal if I want to turn? And where is the horn?" She started frantically pressing the center of the small steering wheel. "If someone cuts me off, how do I beep at them?"
Deva stared at her through her visor for three solid seconds before his shoulders started shaking with suppressed laughter.
"Indicators? A horn?" Deva wheezed, grabbing the steering wheel to stop her from trying to honk it. "Krithika, it's a race track! You don't use a turn signal before you overtake someone, and you definitely don't honk at them! You just drive past them!"
"Well, how am I supposed to know if a driver is behind me? There are no rearview mirrors!"
Deva wiped a tear of laughter from his eye. "Just trust the rubber. Press the right pedal and steer."
They walked out into the pit lane. A fleet of bright red, 200cc, 4-stroke Honda go-karts sat idling, their engines vibrating angrily.
The track marshal gave a quick safety briefing, waving flags and pointing to the hairpin bends.
"Okay, Heat 1 is a practice run!" Deva shouted over the noise. "10 laps. Get a feel for the track. No aggressive overtaking. Sameer, if you ram anyone, I am leaving you here."
"I am a ghost, bro! You won't even see me!" Sameer yelled back, already jumping into Kart No. 7.
They strapped themselves into the low-slung seats. The karts were just inches off the ground, making everything feel twice as fast.
Deva settled into Kart No. 1. He looked to his right. Krithika was in Kart No. 2, gripping the small steering wheel so hard her knuckles were white through the gloves. Her visor was up, and she looked terrified.
Deva gave her a thumbs up. She offered a shaky nod.
The green flag waved.
The boys took off like missiles. Arjun drove with clinical, mathematical precision, hitting the racing lines perfectly. Sameer drove like a maniac, swerving wildly to warm up his tires like he had seen on Formula 1. Feroz was steady, maintaining a good pace.
The girls, however, were a different story.
Riya and Kavya were treating it like a scenic drive through a park, crawling along at 25 kmph, screaming every time a corner approached. Anjali was a bit braver, hitting 50 kmph but braking erratically.
And Krithika... Krithika was stalled on the start line.
Deva, who had already completed half a lap, looked back over his shoulder. He saw her kart stationary, a track marshal running towards her.
Deva sighed, smiling beneath his helmet. He hit the brakes, spun his kart around, and drove back the wrong way towards the start line.(it is a rented track he can do what he wants.)
He pulled up parallel to her.
"What happened?" Deva shouted over the engine noise, lifting his visor.
"It's not moving!" Krithika yelled back, her voice muffled and frustrated. "I'm pressing the pedal! It's broken! And the steering wheel won't turn!"
Deva leaned over, looking down into her footwell.
He started laughing again. His shoulders shook with mirth.
"What is so funny?!" she demanded, glaring at him.
"You are pressing the brake, Shorty," Deva wheezed. "The accelerator is on the right. You are currently trying to accelerate with the brake."
Krithika froze. She looked down. She realized her mistake. Even through the helmet, Deva could tell she was blushing furiously.
"Shut up!" she screamed, instantly moving her foot to the right pedal and slamming it down.
The kart lurched forward with a violent jerk.
"Whoa!" she yelled as the kart rocketed towards the first corner.
Deva quickly spun his kart around and chased after her.
For the next ten laps, Deva didn't race Arjun or Sameer. He acted as the ultimate escort vehicle. He drove slightly behind and to the left of Krithika's kart.
"Ease off the gas!" Deva shouted as she approached a hairpin bend.
She lifted her foot. The kart slowed.
"Now turn hard right! Apex!"
She yanked the heavy wheel, her whole upper body shifting with the effort. The kart gripped the asphalt, sweeping around the corner beautifully.
"Now floor it!"
She slammed the accelerator. The kart shot out of the corner.
"I DID IT!" her scream of pure joy echoed across the track. "I ACTUALLY DID IT!"
Meanwhile, on the other side of the track, Sameer was trying to execute his master plan. He spotted Riya and Kavya slowly navigating a wide curve. He decided this was the perfect moment to show off his 'drifting' skills.
He slammed the brakes and cranked the wheel simultaneously.
Instead of a smooth, cinematic drift, the 200cc kart spun violently 180 degrees. It skidded backwards and wedged itself firmly into a wall of red and white tires. The engine sputtered and died.
Sameer sat there, facing the wrong way, as Riya and Kavya slowly drove past him. Kavya even offered a polite, confused little wave.
"Pit stop!" Sameer yelled weakly to the girls, deeply humiliated as two track marshals jogged over to physically drag his kart out of the tires. "Tactical pit stop!"
By lap five, Krithika's fear was entirely gone. The competitive beast inside her had awakened. She was leaning into the corners, finding the racing line, her speed increasing with every passing minute.
Deva drove beside her, matching her pace perfectly. He watched her. The way her body tensed before a turn, the way she aggressively attacked the straightaways. He found it incredibly endearing.
The checkered flag waved, ending the practice session.
They rolled back into the pit lane.
Krithika ripped her helmet off before the engine even died. Her hair was matted to her forehead with sweat, her face was flushed red, but her eyes were burning with an adrenaline-fueled fire.
"Did you see that?!" she yelled at Deva as he stepped out of his kart. "I overtook Anjali! I overtook Riya! I was flying! I am basically Michael Schumacher!"
Deva laughed, taking off his own helmet. "You were going 50 kmph, Schumi. But yes, you were flying."
"I am ready," she declared, pointing a gloved finger at him. "The real race. You and me. I am taking you down."
"Oh, you want to race the Devil?" Deva raised an eyebrow, leaning against his kart. "That's a dangerous game."
"I'm not scared of you," she smirked. "Loser buys dinner."
"Deal," Deva extended his hand. They shook on it.
"Alright, listen up!" Arjun yelled, taking on the role of Race Director, looking intensely frustrated with his team. "This is the championship race! 15 laps. The girls get a 30-second head start. And Sameer, if you try to drift again, I will personally ban you!"
"It's about centrifugal force, Arjun! You don't understand the physics of the rubber!" Sameer argued defensively.
"30 seconds," Arjun finalized, rubbing his temples. "Go get in your karts."
They lined up on the grid. Krithika, Anjali, Riya, and Kavya at the front. Deva, Arjun, Sameer, and Feroz at the back.
The green flag dropped. The girls sped off.
Thirty seconds later, the marshal dropped the flag for the boys.
Deva slammed the accelerator. He hit the first corner without braking, letting the kart slide perfectly on the edge of traction.
He passed Feroz on lap 2.
He passed Sameer on lap 4 (Sameer was still traumatized and driving exceptionally slow).
He engaged in a dogfight with Arjun for three laps.
"Take the outside line!" Arjun yelled as they approached turn 6, his nerd-rage flaring. "Geometric apexes, Sid! Geometric apexes!"
Deva ignored the math, dove into the inside lane, and traded paint with Arjun's kart, slipping past him.
By lap 10, Deva was tearing through the field. He passed Anjali, Riya, and Kavya effortlessly.
There was only one kart left in front of him. Kart No. 2. Krithika.
She was actually driving well. She had memorized the braking points Deva had taught her. She was defending the racing line stubbornly.
Deva closed the gap. By lap 13, he was right on her bumper.
He pulled up alongside her on the long straight. He looked over. She turned her head. Even through the tinted visors, the challenge was clear.
Deva hit the accelerator, preparing to overtake her on the outside of the upcoming right-hander.
Krithika saw him moving. The competitive demon took over.
She didn't yield the racing line. Instead, as Deva pulled level, she deliberately jerked her heavy steering wheel to the left.
CLANG.
Her kart slammed hard into the side of Deva's kart.
The impact sent Deva skidding slightly toward the outer edge of the track. He had to lift off the accelerator to avoid hitting the grass barrier, losing precious momentum.
"Hey!" Deva shouted, his voice lost in the engine noise. She just pit-maneuvered me!
Krithika didn't look back. She kept her foot down, zooming into the corner, claiming the apex.
Deva laughed out loud inside his helmet. The absolute audacity. She was playing dirty.
"Okay, Shorty," Deva muttered. "Gloves are off."
Deva hunted her down again.
As they approached the final, sharpest hairpin bend, Krithika moved to the outside to take a wide, sweeping arc.
It was a mistake. She left the inside lane wide open.
Deva didn't brake. He dive-bombed the inside corner. He slid his kart perfectly into the narrow gap between her kart and the inner curb.
He was ahead. He had the line.
But as they exited the corner, side by side, Deva looked over at her.
She was fighting the steering wheel, her body leaning aggressively, trying to squeeze every ounce of speed out of the small engine. She looked so intensely focused, so fiercely determined to win this stupid, meaningless race against a professional athlete.
Deva's foot hovered over the accelerator.
He could end it right now. He could floor it and win by a mile.
But watching her fight for it... it was the best thing he had seen all day.
Deva's foot eased off the pedal. Just a fraction. Barely noticeable. He let his engine revs drop slightly.
Krithika's kart surged forward. She pulled ahead of him by half a kart length.
They hit the final straight. The checkered flag was waving frantically.
Krithika crossed the finish line first, a mere microsecond before Deva.
The boys crossed soon after, followed by the rest of the girls.
They rolled into the pit lane, engines sputtering and dying out. The sudden silence was ringing in their ears.
Krithika threw her helmet off and leaped out of her kart. She didn't even take her gloves off before she started doing a victory dance, pointing furiously at Deva.
"I WON! I BEAT THE DEVIL! I BEAT THE WORLD CHAMPION! SOMEONE CALL THE NEWSPAPERS!" she screamed, her voice cracking with pure, unadulterated triumph.
Deva stepped out of his kart slowly, taking off his helmet and running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. He leaned against the steering wheel, watching her celebrate.
"You cheated," Deva said, though he was grinning from ear to ear. "You rammed me on turn 6. That's a black flag offense in professional racing."
"It's called defensive driving, loser!" she shot back, walking up to him and poking him in the chest. "Accept your defeat with dignity."
"You only won because I let off the gas on the last corner," Deva teased, crossing his arms.
Krithika's eyes narrowed. The celebration stopped. "Excuse me? You let me win?"
"I might have... eased off slightly," Deva smirked. "To save your ego."
"Liar!" she gasped, genuinely offended now. "You did not! I out-drove you! I took the apex perfectly!"
"You left the inside lane open," Deva pointed out calmly. "If I floored it, I would have put you in the tire wall. I was being a gentleman."
"I don't need a gentleman, I need a fair race!" she fumed, crossing her arms, her face flushed red. "I demand a rematch. Right now. 1v1. No holding back."
"Relax, Schumi," Deva laughed, reaching out and gently tapping her nose with his finger. "You won fair and square. The trophy is yours. And more importantly, the dinner bill is mine."
Her anger instantly evaporated at the mention of free food. "Oh, right. Dinner. I want pizza. The expensive kind."
Around them, the rest of the group was engaged in their own chaotic post-mortems.
"I am telling you, the tire pressure was completely unequal on my kart!" Sameer was whining to Riya and Kavya, trying to salvage his reputation. "If the left rear wasn't deflated, I would have drifted that corner flawlessly!"
"You drove straight into a wall, Sameer," Riya laughed. "There were no other karts around you. You drifted into a stationary object."
"Arjun," Anjali was saying, looking at the CEO with newfound respect. "You drive like a robot. It was actually scary. You didn't drift once."
"Drifting loses speed," Arjun said matter-of-factly, adjusting his collar. "The shortest distance between two points is a calculated geometric curve."
"Nerd," Sameer coughed loudly.
"Let's go," Deva announced to the group, throwing his arm casually over Krithika's shoulders. The gesture was so natural, so fluid, that neither of them flinched. "Loser is buying pizza. There's a decent Italian place I know of."
They walked out of the track towards the parking lot. The sun had set, and the cool evening breeze felt heavenly against their sweat-dampened clothes.
The group naturally fragmented as they walked. Sameer, trying his best to win back Riya's attention, was walking ahead, demonstrating proper steering techniques using an imaginary wheel. Arjun and Feroz were walking with Anjali, debating the merits of automated braking systems.
Deva and Krithika fell to the back of the pack, walking slowly.
The chaotic noise of the track faded, replaced by the quiet crunch of gravel under their sneakers.
"You really let me win, didn't you?" Krithika asked softly, looking up at him as they walked. The bravado was gone, replaced by a quiet curiosity.
Deva looked down at her. He saw the smudge of grease on her cheek, the messy tangle of her hair, and the bright, intelligent spark in her eyes. In a world where people worshipped the ground he walked on, she demanded he fight for every inch.
"No," Deva lied softly, his arm tightening slightly around her shoulder. "You beat me. You're a natural."
She smiled, a small, knowing smile. She bumped her hip against his.
"You're a terrible liar," she whispered.
"I'm learning," he whispered back.
"Come on, slowpokes!" Sameer yelled from the SUV.
"Duty calls," Deva sighed, pulling his arm back.
"Next time," Krithika said, "No holding back. I want to beat the real you."
"Careful what you wish for, Shorty," Deva winked, opening the door of his car. "The real me doesn't know how to lose."